


Beautiful

by Severina



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Community: muse_talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-17
Updated: 2008-10-17
Packaged: 2017-10-10 11:42:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/99357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The longer I draw, the more my confidence grows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beautiful

**Author's Note:**

> Post Episode 103  
> Written for LJ's Muse_Talking community (1st Person Justin Taylor)  
> Prompt: Beautiful

The sky is gradually lightening when I wake up in Brian's bed. My entire body aches, and I have to wonder if it will always be like this, if I'll always wake up sore and tired and happy and fulfilled in a way that I've never been before. I slide onto my side to watch him, careful not to wake him. I watch his chest slowly rising and falling, the flutter of his lashes on his cheeks, the spill of his hair onto the pillow. I have never seen anyone so beautiful.

I watch him for long moments, making sure he's sound asleep before I push the duvet carefully down and slip out of the bed. I pad quietly to the top of the stairs, where I'd dropped my gym bag the night before, thankful once again that I'd thought ahead and left my bag in Daphne's car. I tug at the zipper and wince, the noise of the metal teeth ripping apart sounding unnaturally loud in the silence. But Brian doesn't stir.

I dig around inside the bag, never taking my eyes off him. Finally my hand lights on the sketchbook. I find the pencils in a side pocket.

The platform is cold and hard, but I settle down and cross my legs and situate the sketchbook across my knees. I can see the sketch coming to life in my head, but for a moment my pencil just hovers above the page. And I'm kind of scared, afraid that I won't be able to do his beauty justice. Afraid that the result will be pedestrian in my novice hands.

Then I take a deep breath and let the nub of the pencil touch the paper.

I outline quickly first -- the sweep of Brian's hair, his patrician nose, his strong chin. The pencil swoops across the page to fill in the bend of his elbow, the long lean torso. The longer I draw, the more my confidence grows. And the more his radiance shines from the page.

It's not about his body, not about the curve of his ear or the length of his cock. It's about the way he made me feel when he stretched out his arms and pushed the other guys away on the dance floor. It's about the way his look switched from predatory and hungry for my body to just… just plain joy, to have me in his arms, to be dancing with me, to be with _me_ again.

That's what I try to capture with my pencil, sketching him as he sleeps. His gentleness. His honesty. The essence of him.

I get so lost in my work, in the shading and the desire to get it all right, that it's a moment before I realize that Brian is stirring. While I've been lost in my art the sun has risen. I steal hastily from the platform and close the sketchpad, sliding it quietly back into my gym bag. And then I climb back into bed, slipping contentedly in beside him. He snuffles in his half-sleep and rolls on to his side, his arm resting comfortably on my hip. And I close my eyes and hope for another fifteen minutes. Ten. Five. Any amount of time he'll give me, to just rest in his arms.


End file.
